


morning glory

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: AU exploration, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fantasizing, It's just a lot of feelings and sex and confusion really, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, suharem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junmyeon wakes up to a burning fever, the need to throw all his blankets and maybe also his clothes off of himself, and Yifan borderline screeching at Kyungsoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. kyungsoo

**Author's Note:**

> what have i fucking done what have i created what monster am i
> 
> okay so this is just. a lot of smut. a lot of smut, with added exploration of the A/B/O universe itself. i've always been iffy about reading and writing about A/B/O in general, but the idea of expectations versus reality and how an actual society might work on this hierarchy was a little bit tempting. hence, headcanons and smut, and, you know, feelings and panic, and hopefully shenanigans. 
> 
> CWs: none for this chapter. Explicit smut, handjobs? That's it.

He wakes up to a burning fever, the need to throw all his blankets and maybe also his clothes off of himself, and Yifan borderline screeching at Kyungsoo.

The first thing he does is wonder if he's in a bad dream, because Yifan doesn't _scream_. He uses that Alpha voice, sure, and he does bark orders at the rowdier children in their group of friends sometimes when they get too loud or too disruptive, but he never screams. Yifan's the sort of cool, detached persona that lasts for as long as you get to know him, and then ten minutes later he's some awkward dude in a body with limbs too long for him to really move properly in without being at least a little clumsy. Even then, he's composed most of the time. Quiet. Chanyeol does get him riled up sometimes, and is probably the only one who can do so.

It's worrying. Kyungsoo, too, is a surprising recipient of this apparent breakdown - Yifan's gentle with Kyungsoo. There's this understanding between them - introvert to introvert, Luhan said once - and, well, Junmyeon doesn't know, but it makes them considerably mellow around each other. Thank _god_ for that, really. He doesn't think he's ever really heard anyone scream at Kyungsoo without suffering for it, though, so there's that. This is just too... strange, surreal, even, to be real life, so he's not exactly worried about any potential consequences of this lapse in judgement. What he _is_ worried about is that it's way too hot, even in this weird dream, and maybe it's just some Inception thing but he figures if he moves and gets more comfortable now, he can relax and ignore strange occurrences in his daily life and go back to the second layer of his dream. (He thinks it was about Chanyeol on fire. It happened last week, so. 

But. This time, he thinks he prevented poor Jungkook's eyebrows from getting singed off by controlling water and dousing the fire, so he's pretty sure it's a dream and not a memory. If only. He's pretty sure Namjoon is still going to be wary around him and his friends for at least a month. Shame.) 

Then he shifts and almost cries because holy fucking _shit_. That sort of pain - nope, not a dream. There is no way the pain would be so vivid in a dream, as if he's been shoved through a meat mincer.

His joints are killing him. It feels like they're made of cotton and pinned together with needles. They're aching, stiff, and his muscles all feel like they've been pulled, no matter which way he turns or moves. There's a dull throb at the base of his spine, spiking whenever he jostles out of a set position. His skin feels way too sensitive - the sheets rub against it, his _clothes_ rub against it. It's unbearable, like even silk would give him rug burn. The only thing that doesn't just feel like a chore is breathing, and even that is heavy with the heat his body is suffering through. He's not exactly sure what the hell is going on, but he's sure he's sick or - something. God, wouldn't that be a thought? Pain aside, he can just sleep it off - stay in bed all day for lack of ability to physically do anything else, not face the boredom he endures through that one class...

" - driving me _crazy_ ," Yifan is lamenting into the... phone, he thinks, because Kyungsoo's voice is absent and he's pretty sure he should be in _class_ at this time, considering that light is filtering through the drawn blinds, and - what. He hushes, after, but the murmur of his voice is still audible, strained and a little bit husky. It's obviously an indication of stress. Junmyeon doesn't think he's heard him this panicked since exam week, or the time he misplaced his birthday gift to Tao an hour before the birthday party. 

Sounds dangerous.

It takes him a moment to untangle himself from the blankets, and a couple more to give up on trying to go back to sleep even through the noise. It's muffled, but he can still hear snippets of conversation - it means that Yifan's in the living room, maybe. The bedrooms in their tiny shared apartment are right across the hall from each other, but usually, the door to Yifan's is closed. It's nice, this privacy that they wouldn't have had in a dorm room - it's only a ten minute walk from here to campus anyway. There's even a tiny balcony and a small storage closet right beside Junmyeon's room in the hall (that they can throw the clutter-of-the-day into whenever the maknaes decide that they'd much rather study here than in the library and only bother to tell either of the apartment's actual tenants via text five minutes before they arrive).

Unfortunately, the walls are thin, and this means he's disturbed to fuck and back again.

He lifts his head to glare. The door is open, too. That explains the frankly less than ideal temperature of the room. If Junmyeon had been the type to bitch about things like that, he'd have been irritated - still, he's never heard Yifan so frazzled and he doesn't think that Kyungsoo even deserves the high, girlish pitch the giant is using to talk to him. So really, this is just a disaster, because this morning has been shot to hell and back and he doesn't have coffee and in a startling turn of events, Junmyeon slowly realizes that he's too hot to even want it. He's a disgrace.

He makes to scramble out of bed, fully awake now, and falls over with a loud thump and a louder groan when his tailbone hits the ground. It sparks pain up the base of his spine, but it's nothing compared to what laced it when he'd even tried to move. He's vaguely aware of Yifan pushing the door open again and rushing over to help him back into bed, setting him on it gently before retreating: he's strong for someone who can't even arm wrestle properly, but Junmyeon is too distracted to point that out.

"Kyungsoo's on his way," Yifan assures him, on the wrong side of hysterical. Junmyeon is fucking terrified.

" _Why_ ," he hisses, pulling himself up to a sitting position (ow, holy shit. His muscles aren't happy with him. Did he pull something? He didn't do anything that strenuous yesterday, but that doesn't prove anything, right?) "He should be in class! Did you do something? Are you _okay_? I'm getting worried, what is going _on_ -"

"It's for you," Yifan insists. "Look, it's just - he's on his way, okay, don't worry about it, I'm going to just -" His throat works. Junmyeon's eyes are drawn to the movement, lingering on Adam's apple for as long as the other stays in the room, which isn't long. 

At some level, Junmyen acknowledges that this is strangely loose behavior even for him. It's not that he doesn't know his roommate is _attractive as fuck_ , because Yifan totally has the hot and mysterious thing going for him and would probably be a really successful model if he tried. As long as the photographers didn't make him smile or something - he goes from cool to complete dork in two seconds flat. It's just that Junmyeon has been really, really good at ignoring that in the past, even when half asleep, accepting it as a fact of life. The sky was blue, coffee was essential, and Wu Yifan was hot. Sure, the pained grimace the other is wearing right now doesn't help much in making him look anything but constipated, but it still counts, right? It settles Junmyeon's nerves a bit, because he knows he looks like utter shit, considering what he's feeling like. Maybe that's why Yifan called Kyungsoo over; because Junmyeon looks horrible and he doesn't know how to handle it. 

He feels insulted, really. It's not very nice of him. Not _everyone_ can look nice, especially when sporting sweat-soaked pajamas and a hell of a fever. Yifan should be _pampering_ him.

Actually, no - it's pretty obvious he's sick. Logically, it's far more likely that he called Kyungsoo over to take care of him, which sparks more indignation for a bit. He can sleep it off, he doesn't need his poor dongsaeng to help. Honestly. "Yifan," he calls out, voice cracked and husky. No answer.

He tries again, this time using what he likes to call his Alpha voice. Junmyeon hasn't presented yet, but honestly, there's really nothing else he can see himself being. (And he already figured out that all that bullshit that Health 101 fed him in class about Alphas being traditionally huge and imposing was exactly that - complete bullshit. If Minseok could be one, he could be one. Life was too short to worry about stereotypes, and so was he.)

It seems that it doesn't work on Yifan, or at least on another Alpha. That's a bummer, really. He's never used it on Minseok, and Kyungsoo's such a good dongsaeng - so nice, so kind, but so honest, too. He doesn't know what he'd do without the boy beside him in their 'group of friends'; they're all fucking lunatics. 

(Maybe not Minseok or Yifan either. Not Yixing, even if he's always somewhere else, so to speak. Everyone else is definitely guilty of lunacy.)

He feels vaguely bummed out for another three seconds before he hears the shower running. Flopping back on the bed with a groan, he runs over what he'd done yesterday. The pain in his spine isn't going away. Something's wrong. He knows it, he feels it, gut instinct. It's still too fucking hot, and Yifan left the door open _again_ : he's sweaty and gross and the room is... cool, yes, sure, but it's not cold enough. That's strange, too: whenever Junmyeon gets sick, which isn't often, it's usually pretty serious. Despite this, he can't recall a time when he'd felt _this_ hot despite the relatively okay temperature. It's sweltering to him now. He tosses and turns, uncomfortable as all hell. Even his _clothes_ chafe his skin.

He doesn't know how long he spends just making frustrated little sounds and rolling around in bed because he's too sore to get up. It's hard to even _think_. But then the door is being nudged open and Kyungsoo pokes his head in, face pale and heart-shaped mouth thinning in displeasure. "Hyung, are you awake?"

And Junmyeon _knows_ his voice is beautiful - he sounds flawless even in fucking karaoke, and he's pretty sure Kyungsoo with a sore throat and hoarse voice would actually be the stuff of wet dreams instead of worry for most people, but right now he sounds like an _angel_. What the hell. Why this, why him.

"Yeah," he croaks, raising a hand and letting it fall back. His shoulders still aren't happy with him. No moving. He turns his head to laugh, despairing, into the pillow. "Sorry for Yifan - I woke up all sick, but really, I can sleep it off, it's just a fever like the other times. I'm sorry you had to come over all this way."

Kyungsoo starts a sentence and stops himself multiple times. Finally, he sighs. "Do you... know what's wrong?"

"No. I just..." He licks his lips. "Woke up like this. I think I might have overworked myself, I don't know. I'll sleep it off. Get to class."

"I'll bring you water," Kyungsoo replies, curt in this... unfamiliar way. Junmyeon feels a flash of confusion, then of hurt, but knows it's warranted; he appreciates Yifan, he supposes, for being so concerned. He remembers the way he'd been so frantic, and his heart turns itself inside out in his chest, pain-pleasure and warmth flooding him. It's nice. Still, though, calling Kyungsoo over for no reason whatsoever is just a little bit extreme. A bit too extreme, okay. No logic in it whatsoever, and he must have made it sound horrible because his dongsaeng doesn't really always go out of his way to do things like this. Yixing would, but he'd bend over backwards and let people step on his washboard abs and remain steady even if they decided to hop a little. His abs were lovely, honestly - pale skin stretched over muscle, rippling in time with controlled pop-and-lock, shirt riding up and sweat glistening in the dips and curves of his abdomen.

Then he pauses. Why the _fuck_ is he thinking about Yixing's abs? God. He's out of it today.

Kyungsoo enters again, places a glass of cold water on the table by the bed. Junmyeon relishes the feeling of cold condensation on his fingers as he brings it to his lips and glugs it down, ignoring the pain for once. He instantly feels... just a bit better, but thirstier. His throat still seems dry and filmy. He needs more water and chapstick stat.

"Thank you," he says belatedly, flashing a smile. Judging from Kyungsoo's grimace, it's not his best. "You're back. Didn't I tell you I'm fine?"

"You did, but I don't believe you." Kyungsoo migrates back to the door with the glass in his hand, clutching it like it's his lifeline. "Kris-hyung left for class a while ago, and he said he's going to stay at Yixing-hyung's, so it's just you and me." He pauses. "... do you know what's happening?"

"You just asked," Junmyeon reminds gently, though his throat is tight. Something is _wrong_. He still smiles, though, pale and washed out. It takes a lot of effort, so he settles for waning it into a close-lipped facsimile of a smile instead. "Is everything okay? Am I contagious?"

It's supposed to be rhetoric, but Kyungsoo hesitates on the threshold, looking like he's debating on something in his head. It doesn't seem like he's warring about whether or not to come back in. "No, you're not," he says finally. "Right. Okay. Stay there for a minute, just - yeah. I'll." He swallows, takes a slow, even breath through his mouth. "I'll be right back, I'll bring you something to eat. Just. Yeah. Um."

It's not just him, he realizes. His gut instinct is right: something is off. It's not just worry lining Kyungsoo's face; it's this... reluctance, closing him off. Junmyeon knows his tells. Kyungsoo's arms are crossed tight over his chest and he looks like he's three seconds away from bolting or even calling someone as incompetent as _Jongdae_ to take his place here. It's almost like he's pained. Somehow, even though Junmyeon knows that it's irrational of him to, since he'd just been reassuring himself of the fact that he'd be fine with rest the entire time, he still feels affronted. Hurt, really. If it's such a bother... 

But that's not important - that's the sickness talking. He's fine. He's going to be fine, and he's sure that he wouldn't have liked to miss class to take care of his hyung, especially if he held classes to the same importance that Kyungsoo did. It just... he doesn't. Know? What he should feel? Not really. He doesn't know whether he likes it or not, whether he's sympathetic or relieved. He just... he just wants to feel better already. Not getting out of bed is fine, but not when he feels like he's in agony while on it. He's going to die.

"No, wait, turn on the AC," says Junmyeon.

"It's on 17C, it doesn't go any lower."

Junmyeon moans in despair.

  


xxx

  


He wakes up to the soft ambience of the TV, barely audible through the wall. It's darker outside, approaching evening; the blinds are still drawn. The smell of sandalwood air freshener stings his nose when he breathes in. It's suffocating instead of calming.

He rolls over in bed, pleased to find that it doesn't hurt as much to move around now. He's still hot - can feel the backs of his eyes burning, can't close them because they're a little too dry to do so without mild discomfort - but he's not aching all over, which is a good thing. There's the phantom throb at the base of his spine, still, though; he supposes you can't have everything in life, especially when it concerns freak fevers and muscle pain from hell. What if he has premature arthritis or something? Oh, god. He hopes not. He'd _die_.

Sweat pools at his temples, at his upper lip, in the dip of his collarbones, the contours of his stomach. His hair feels wet with it, and, god, this is the most disgusting state he's ever been in, honestly. There's salt on his lips when he licks them. A glass of water lies on his table, this time without condensation; lukewarm from having sat there for so long. He drinks it anyway and pulls himself up to go put the glass in the kitchen. Standing takes more out of him than he'd expected it would: he sways on his feet, blood rushing to his head and making him dizzier. Movement is sluggish and awkward. Graceless, even. He wants... rest, but he's not sleepy. He wants to be tired out. 

Kyungsoo is still in his apartment, Alpha scent permeating even the heavy blanket of sandalwood spray that clogs the air. He's staring listlessly at some new drama or something (it's a typical love confession scene, where the girl only just realizes that her feelings for her best friend are stronger than her feelings for the bad boy in town, and if it hadn't been so completely clichéd and stupid then he would have applauded her acting - she's pretty too, with double eyelids and an expressive, thin-lipped mouth), but turns around when Junmyeon ventures out of his room to give him a strained smile.

"Hi." His voice is hoarser, taking a couple of tries to actually push out of his throat. It hurts, actually - scratching on the inside of his throat even though he just downed lukewarm water desperately enough for it to dribble from the corners of his mouth down to his chin. Even the tap water is cool and welcome on his hands when he washes the glass. "You're still here."

"You were asleep when I came back to check on you. I wouldn't _leave you alone_ ," the tiny boy says, affronted. Junmyeon laughs, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

"I didn't mean to imply that, Kyungsoo-ah. I know you wouldn't. I just meant..." He glances at the clock. 5:07. "It's just late, that's all."

"It's all right. I don't mind being here," Kyungsoo says with an expression screaming no, he would rather be anywhere but here, thank you very much for all the fish. "You should take a shower, hyung, you smell."

"I do _not_ ," he replies, fake-affronted, leaning on the wall for support. "Look, I just need to - I dn't know. I feel like I'll pass out in the shower or something."

"You're in heat," Kyungsoo stutters. Junmyeon nods; he's definitely overheated, there's no way he can refute that. He's pretty sure he'd have to lay in a bucket of ice or something to even be comfortable; he's not keen on going back to sleep, but really, he just doesn't want to _move_ , either. 

"Can't I just take a shower later -"

" _Hyung_ ," Kyunsoo snaps, then winces and flushes down to his neck, curling into himself a little bit. "I'm an Alpha!"

Junmyeon frowns; he knows _that_. Kyungsoo presented early in puberty, further disproving high school Health 101 and its jargon about strong builds and looming figures and physical strength in this modern age. "Yeah," he says, irritated. "Look, is it a problem for you to take care of me? I already told you I can handle it. I don't mind if you aren't my personal servant, 'Soo-ah. You don't have to be there for my every beck and call, but if you have plans or other things to do --"

"That's not it," Kyungsoo interrupts, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open to take in huge lungfuls of air. Junmyeon starts forward, annoyance melting away into concern. But Kyungsoo waves a hand at him to stop; his scent is spiking all over the place, familiar spices, but it's stronger, thicker, headier, and makes his mouth _water_. "That's not it, you're just - I don't know how to tell you this but this isn't a normal fever, okay? It's - you're presenting right now. You're in heat. As in - presenting as an omega, but you smell so _good_ and I just - I need you to take a shower, please. Please."

Junmyeon stumbles. " _What?_ "

"Go take a shower!"

"Wait, no, what the hell do you mean I'm 'presenting'?" He takes shaky steps forward. Kyungsoo recoils as if he's been burned, tiny hand covering his tiny nose, using the couch as a barrier. " _What do you mean I'm an omega? _"__

"We'll talk about this after you've washed up," Kyungsoo says. There's that tone again - terse, unfamiliar. Junmyeon finally puts a name to it: it's commanding, an Alpha keeping order, ensuring protection. It's not that he hasn't used it in front of him before. The undercurrent of steel shines through his normally smooth voice whenever Baekhyun or Chanyeol are too rowdy in public places, when they get too ahead of themselves and forget that there are boundaries to jokes and stretch teasing a little too far towards hurtful.

Kyungsoo just treated him like a misbehaving child.

" _You're already treating me different_ ," he screeches - revels, fully, in the pitiful yelp that escapes the other boy's throat. 

He revels in the apologies following as well, glaring balefully at a crack on the wall instead of looking directly at Kyungsoo. He doesn't really mean to tune him out, either, but it's hard to think while he's trying to sort through the information he's just been given. He's busy examining all his friends' presenting at length, trying to find dissonance between their personalities and their natures, when Kyungsoo says something about 'omega traits' and how 'it actually does make sort of sense'.

"I'm sorry?" he says, turning his attention back to the other. In the last two minutes, Kyungsoo has apparently backed away to the other side of the room and slid the balcony door open. There's a distinct bulge in his pants that he's trying to hide with his hands.

Junmyeon's ass clenches down on nothing, and, to his utter humiliation, he can feel something _drip out_.

"You're caring," Kyungsoo explains patiently. "Generations ago, omegas were often the caretakers - the peacekeepers. Mediators, if you want to put it that way. It's an omega trait, developed to prevent pack members from tearing each other apart."

"But we're not pack members."

"No," he agrees quietly. "We're not."

" _You're_ caring," Junmyeon says desperately. 

"Yes, but - I mean, thank you. But traits aren't supposed to be the _only_ requirement for a nature -"

" _Why does me being caring even matter then --_ "

"It goes both ways! Look, just - let me finish. Okay? Not every caring person in the world is going to be an omega, and not every protective person in the world is going to be an alpha. It's in your DNA."

And now that Kyungsoo mentions it, he remembers, fuzzily, that Health 101 said that it was in their genes. Natural biology. Something like that, he doesn't know, he doesn't remember, he didn't pay attention. Junmyeon honestly just feels like crying because he's a fucking omega and he's in heat and everything sucks and he's going to be disrespected and he's going to be looked at like people look at Taozi and he _hates_ the way people look at Taozi, treated as property even though that's archaic, and expected to be meek and submissive. Maybe he _will_ turn into some meek and submissive trophy. Does post-presenting behavior deviate from pre-presenting? He doesn't know.

He doesn't know anything because he never thought he was going to be an omega.

"Hyung," Kyungsoo says, strained. "The shower."

This time, he goes without a word, twisting the tap in the bathroom all the way to ice cold and stepping under the spray. It hurts unexpectedly, every drop of water hitting his skin feeling like a tiny bullet biting into his flesh. Anything hotter than this would make him literally melt, though. He can't even stand under the spray for too long - with a whine, he twists the knob for hot water a tad, hisses through his teeth in relief when lukewarm water turns out to be a little more forgiving.

He still can't stomach it. He's never been around an omega in heat, so he doesn't know if the stereotypes about them being sex-crazed and needy during heat are even remotely accurate, but right now, he doesn't think he really needs anything knotting him. The thought sends liquid pleasure shooting down his spine to the ache at the base, guilty pleasure and secret desire, but it's not a need. He can't see himself being - nervous and flighty and passive and finicky and delicate. He knew he was pretty, knew he had handsome features and a bright smile and was like a meter tall, but honestly, he didn't think that would impact his nature in any way. At least, not if Minseok could look Disney woodland-creature level cute and still be an alpha, no questions asked.

It's easy to compartmentalize. The water comes down, a constant massage on the severe side of painful, so focusing on it doesn't take too much effort. Scattered thoughts, embarrassment, flashes of heat and want and worry, expectations shattered, the panic of facing what seems like an entirely different lifestyle. Compartmentalize, breathe in, out. Don't freak out. Breathe. Don't be scared. Breathe. Don't panic. Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe_.

He spends twenty minutes just scrubbing himself clean, fifteen poking through Yifan's skincare products, and another ten just trying to get clothes on without crying out from the feeling of the fabric rubbing him raw. When he exits the bathroom, Kyungsoo thrusts a popsicle and pheromone blockers at him, looking more like the thoroughly unamused, long-suffering dongsaeng that Junmyeon knows and loves instead of an alpha lurking on the very fringes of self-restraint.

"I'm sorry," Junmyeon blurts out, at the same time Kyungsoo says: "Why don't you have any real food in the fridge, goddamn."

They blink at each other.

"I'm sorry," he says fondly, taking both and going for the popsicle first, licking a wide stripe around the base to catch any melting drops before starting on the tip. It's a relief - how long has it been since he last ate? Even if it's not a proper meal, it's still delicious. It just barely takes the edge off the heat.

"Sorry," he says again once he's finished. Kyungsoo makes this distracted 'muh?' sound and then snaps to attention, looking away from the stick dangling from Junmyeon's fingers. "I didn't mean to freak out like that. It just - it caught me off guard. Sorry."

"It's okay. You didn't know."

"I didn't know." Junmyeon pauses, searches for ways to make this... not as awkward as it is. "I've got nothing in the fridge because I know I can count on you to send me delicious homecooked meals."

"That's too dependent. What if I decide not to make any for you anymore?" Kyungsoo says, relaxing and following him into the living room. The couch still acts as a barrier, Junmyeon notes.

"I'd starve to death and haunt your ass - not that I'd need to. You're going to be guilty as hell for killing your favourite hyung -- don't make that face, I know I'm your favourite --"

"You know nothing, Jun Suho."

Junmyeon groans. "When will you let Suho die? It was my nickname in _high school_."

"I thought you just implied that you didn't want me to let you die."

"You know what I meant. I'm your hyung, you know?" He pouts. Kyungsoo grimaces. 

"Don't make that face," he chides. "It's not cute on you at all. Take the blockers. Lee Minho's new drama should be airing just about now, let's watch. I won't have to look at you then."

  


xxx

  


He stays awake at night, unable to fall asleep. He inhaled ice cream and popsicles for dinner, and they'd been nice going down, but now it's uncomfortable to even move. Without anything to distract him, especially with the phone brightness hurting his eyes even when it was as low as it would go, he resorts to thinking.

The thing is, Junmyeon is the de facto leader - soft, but poised and confident and capable of writing and reading between the lines. He's capable of drawing back and looking at the big picture, playing up his strengths and improving his weaknesses to be the foundation, the model. He knows his limits, walks the fine line of control. 

Polite, unassuming. He wonders if he'd been sterner, if he'd disciplined others instead of disciplining _himself_ to perfection, like Yifan -

But no. It's genetic, it's - it's in his blood. Yifan is different from Chanyeol is different from Minseok, and following the chain, extending it, brings the differences up to infinite numbers; he's not a psychology student. All he needs to know is that it's not the same, they're not copies of each other - not following the same perfect mold of what an alpha 'should be' according to history books and sociologists and stuffy people on Google. They're just them, just like Junmyeon was just Junmyeon, and maybe they had the traits and maybe they didn't. It should be simple as that - that he can't find logical answers to this looming question, 'why am I an omega and not an alpha?' instead of simply 'why am I not an alpha?'. He wouldn't have cared if he'd been a beta - he would have taken it with a grain of salt, accepting it as befitting.

It's just dissonant, this image of himself being labelled as traditionally submissive. 

And, okay, sure, he has omega friends, and Junmyeon has never really considered anyone's nature to impact friendship at all. It's why he has such a huge social circle - alphas, betas, omegas, all considered friends with no distinction. There's nothing but their personality and how they act impacting his decision to speak with him further, and they know that. Everyone knows that.

He thinks he understands, a little bit. Now that he thinks about it, in the silence of the night, Kyungsoo's presence in the apartment reassuring and the sound of traffic outside his window leaving auditory breadcrumbs in his room, he can understand where he's coming from. It's the idea of ownership - of omegas being property, treasured, trophies even though they're people,, too, that gets to him. They're at the bottom of the hierarchy. They're property, named and claimed, but their owners, their _controllers_ aren't necessarily always theirs. It's imbalanced, objectifying. He'd always thought so, even before, but now...

It affects him directly now. It _sucks_.

  


xxx

  


For the second time in twenty four hours, Junmyeon wakes up to obtrusive heat and strained noise. Like the first time, the heat comes from himself, under his skin, boiling his blood, hair and clothes and even the sheets soaked through. Unlike the first time, the voice comes from his own dry throat. 

Kyungsoo is at his side in seconds, running cool (thank god, bless him, thank you thank you thank you thank you) hands over his face and wiping his tears and pushing wet hair away from his forehead even though it's disgusting. He's saying something, but Junmyeon can't hear, is unable to hear - blood rushes down to his cock and he's so achingly hard and leaking both pre-come and slick until his underwear is completely wet with it. The cool touch leaves - Junmyeon sobs. He'd thought that the first time he'd woken up had been bad - now he's crying, eyes like hot marbles in his skull and stinging with tears. He wants to go back to it, needs to go back to it. He'd been able to hear himself think rationally, he'd been able to move around without feeling like his limbs were going to fall off, he'd been able to go five seconds without feeling like there was a scream contained at the very edge of his throat, he'd been able to swallow without hacking and coughing. 

And then Kyungsoo's back, turning the light on and tugging him up with steady hands and helping him drink something cold and putting a wet towel on his forehead, wiping him down. Junmyeon can't stop crying. He's saying something, he thinks - thank you, probably, over and over again, choking on his spit to try and get it out through chapped lips and a heavy tongue. He can understand why Kris asked for Kyungsoo and not Tao to help him through; Tao wouldn't be able to handle him like this. Not when he already regarded him like some sort of guiding figure, a protector, an apparition of his 'guardian' moniker. Bless Wu Yifan.

His spine throbs. Kyungsoo is murmuring in that angelic voice of his, smooth and rich and divine and delicious, chocolate or velvet or whatever smooth simile that fits, every simile that fits - his voice is beautiful, an anchor in the waves, steady and strong. Protective. Alpha traits, he remembers half-bitterly, and fights the urge to scream. He does his best to hear him through, mindlessly following his instructions ('breathe deep, hold, breathe out, relax your muscles') until he's calmer, less delirious, less fucking insane. He smells so fucking good, now, too - Kyungsoo always smelled nice, always, but now he's just so close and so nice. So gentle. Kyungsoo wouldn't mind helping him, right? He wouldn't, right? 

"Sorry," he says now, "sorry sorry sorry sorry -"

"Shh," Kyungsoo says, worried and concerned, and, oh god, his heart is fucking palpitating or something. "Shh, you're going to be fine. Your heat just hit really really hard this time - the first is always bad, I watched a documentary once -"

"I think I'm going to _die_ -"

"- usually the worst, but the rest of the heats are often less severe - don't fall asleep, okay? You need to sweat this out -"

"I'm already drowning in sweat!" Junmyeon protests, scrabbling at the sheets and writhing. His mouth is open, eyes scrunched shut, as another wave of slick leaks out of him in a steady trickle. Belatedly, he realizes that he's not the only one panting in the room. 

"You're making this so hard," Kyungsoo almost moans. Junmyeon thinks it wasn't really meant for his ears, but that doesn't stop him from arching a little with a loud exhale, tinged with the tail end of a groan. 

"How do I end this," he asks instead of doing something embarrassing and uncalled for, like imagine Kyungsoo putting his hands on him in a distinctly not clinical manner. His tone rises and falls, unsteady, on a shaky little laugh. "How do I make this better - I'm going to die, I'm - how do I fucking get help, how do I help myself, oh documentary guru?"

Kyungsoo's silent for a long time. That's right, he fucking knew it. None of his friends are helpful, all of them are idiots. Lunatics, every single one of them, even Kyungsoo and Yixing and Yifan and Minseok and Tao -

He almost misses when Kyungsoo says, in a small voice: "sex makes it better."

Junmyeon sucks in a rattling breath and finally opens his eyes, focusing on Kyungsoo leaning over him awkwardly, face flaming red. His face is swollen from sleep and his hair is a disaster, lips red and full. Upon seeing the look on Junmyeon's face, he backtracks immediately, shaking his head ("it was stupid, I'm sorry") and, no, he's thinking about it now so Kyungsoo _can't_ go away and leave him here. He can't. 

"How does it help?"

Kyungsoo looks like he's been hit on the head with a hammer. "Heats are an omega's bodily process to attract mates and aid fertility," he recites. "If one receives sexual gratification, the heat speeds up and ends earlier."

"How long does a first heat even last," Junmyeon says, grabbing at Kyungsoo's shirt and ignoring the muffled squeak he lets out. 

"Three days, maybe four, five, it's different for everyone," Kyungsoo chokes. "Oh, god, hyung, you smell really good, please let go of me. I'll get you more water -"

"I don't want more water," he shouts, pulling him closer and sighing in relief when he finds that the temperature is soothing, sort of - a little too hot but good. He doesn't need to think about this, not really. He doesn't feel that way for Kyungsoo, either. He's his dongsaeng, and, yes, he does appreciate him a lot more for helping him and listening to him, but what he feels isn't lust for the other at all. It's not desire making him do this; it's just the need to feel okay. He hopes Kyungsoo knows that.

From the looks of it, he does. The boy swallows, places one knee on the bed and a hand beside Junmyeon's shoulder to steady himself. Junmyeon wonders if he's been too direct - if he's even willing. There's a flash of self-doubt; he knows what he feels for Kyungsoo and knows where they lie. He doesn't know if the other is even willing to continue this in that vein - maybe that information hadn't been an offer, but had only been... exactly that, information, meant for him to use as he wished without Kyungsoo's help. Junmyeon forces his fingers to uncurl from the fabric of the singer's shirt.

"Or you don't have to, it's not - I'm sorry." He smiles through frustration. "I don't want you to do this out of guilt or whatever - it's unfair of me to ask you to do this. You don't have to, I'll use something else - a toy, there's this key in the second drawer of the table - it's painted red - for a drawer in the closet, the left one, open it --"

"Oh, _god,_ " Kyungsoo says loudly. Junmyeon gives him a disapproving look (or tries to, anyway). "I want to - hyung, I want to."

Junmyeon's entire body relaxes. "Good," he says, breathless. "Good, but no - I don't want..." He glances at Kyungsoo's crotch, not even surprised to find him as hard as Junmyeon is. That tent is - wow. Huge. 

Kyungsoo understands, kisses his cheek. "I promise, hyung. Stop crying, let me just..."

He takes off Junmyeon's pants and boxers painstakingly slow, eyes lidded until his eyelashes thread together. He knows he's just trying to make it easier for him, less uncomfortable, but he still chokes on air and bites down on his tongue. "You can," Junmyeon sighs when he's exposed, closing his eyes against the embarrassment, "go faster, you know."

"Yeah," Kyungsoo replies, voice husky and low and mild and smooth and jesus fucking christ. "Yeah."

It's awkward, a little bit, being looked at like this from someone he honestly hadn't ever thought about doing anything remotely sexual with except maybe once or twice in dreams, or when Kyungsoo was singing some slow-burn, sexy song with all the finesse and rich control of someone majoring in vocal R&B, or when Junmyeon is spectacularly drunk and stuck wondering just what it would be like to kiss those lips. Kyungsoo is attractive. Cute, even. It's not even a crush as much as it is not being blind and being attracted to attractive people.

This is by far the most genuine no homo he's ever been a part of and he's not even fucking _straight_.

"Are you sure?" Kyungsoo asks. 

"I don't know," Junmyeon answers truthfully, but he's impatient, and rolls his hips (ow, ow, ow, but god, yes) up in askance. The backs of his eyelids are a dark red with the lights on. "I can't... I think I do, I really do, I need help. These are dire circumstances."

He can feel Kyungsoo, hard and aching, against his thigh, but he doesn't even lean forward, deathly still. Junmyeon opens his eyes, hastily follows. "I'm just - I didn't think I'd have to face this, and it hurts, it's horrible, I want it to get better - dire circumstances."

There's nothing but patience on Kyungsoo's face, written over it, and Junmyeon _knows_ they're both on the same page; of course it had to be scathing, awkward, caustic Kyungsoo who would understand where he's coming from because of a fucking documentary. Of course it would be him, checking and checking but never overstepping boundaries. Junmyeon had forgotten why he was supported by the younger most of the time: because he knew his own limitations as well. It's this that makes him nod again, frantically, murmur litanies of permission. 

Kyungsoo settles between his legs, spreading them slowly. "Ah, hyung," he sighs into the side of his knee, dropping a kiss on it. And then he leans up to drop a kiss to his mouth too, and it must be terrible because his lips are chapped and dry and cracked, but Kyungsoo doesn't say a word, licking into his mouth. 

He's still hesitant, shy; Junmyeon doesn't care, tugs him down with hands in his hair, and deepens the kiss himself, demanding and insistent. The other's skin is so cool to the touch and it's so - it's wonderful, a relief, much better than popsicles and uncomfortable cold showers. Junmyeon bites down on plush bottom lip, drinks in the surprised, pleased moan. The hands on his thighs tighten their grip, push his legs wider open. His touch is heaven, it's hell, it's something he'd never considered to feel that good - it's just chemistry, he knows, and it's because Junmyeon's an omega and Kyungsoo's an alpha and they're both sexually compatible, chemistries reacting to each other like this. It's still divine - so good Junmyeon's moaning filthy and low into Kyungsoo's lips before he even touches him where he needs it. 

The smell of arousal is thick in the air, this time unhindered by room freshener stolen off of Yifan's shelf. Junmyeon can smell how much Kyungsoo wants this, wants him - it dissipates the awkwardness in the room, this mindless need to make each other feel good, maybe imbalanced but present all the same permeating through and replacing it. Kyungsoo's hand finally wrapping around his cock is a relief. "Yes," he breathes, "yes, like that --"

Kyungsoo jerks him off with slow, steady drags of his palm, face in Junmyeon's neck and twisting his wrist in this absolutely amazing way at the base and then squeezing just a bit on the head before spreading pre-come back down. Junmyeon almost sobs in pleasure. He can feel it affecting the heat - something hot and inescapable and strict simmering down to comfortable warmth, like tea in summer. Kyungsoo can feel it too, he thinks - he presses kisses against Junmyeon's collarbones, against his shoulder, scrapes his teeth feather-light across his throat. He should be embarrassed by the slick pouring out of him, spreading in a wet spot just under his ass, but he's not (right now, not right now, not when he's so close so quick and that's just biology, it's just biology just as much as this fucking slick and this arousal is but he doesn't care right now), tilting his hips up and setting his pace, back arched and head thrown back. 

He feels so wound up - the throb at the base of his spine, that fucking pain, it's all melting away little by little - still there, ever-present, but so much more manageable until the next wave, and this happened with just one sexual interaction, just one. He wants to know what heat feels like when battling it out with fingers up his ass, or a cock, or whatever, whatever, holy fuck holy shit it feels like a fucking relief - Kyungsoo is moaning into his neck, unbearably cute even as an Alpha, and whispering his name, " _hyung, Junmyeon-hyung_ " so warm and needy and cute - he's not even touching himself, so intent on making his hyung feel better, and --

Kyungsoo's thumb catches on his frenulum and Junmyeon sees white, world shattering and pleasant with noise at the back of his mind, and for once - for once, in over twelve hours, he feels better.

"Kyungsoo," he says finally when he catches his breath. Kyungsoo has been still - in a matter of speech, only shaking against him where he's bent over him. He moves now though, pupils blown wide when he looks at him, and Junmyeon feels an undercurrent of - he feels this wave of gratefulness wash over him, because he knows, on some level, what Kyungsoo is trying to do. He's trying to make this about Junmyeon, so he doesn't freak out again, and, yeah, that's embarrassing - it always is, when it comes to freakouts, since they're never pretty - but it's also oddly touching. It's still respectful. It's him being unsure about something and being patient enough to wait until Junmyeon's come down from his high to ask. 

"Did you come?" he asks, gently, expects a no.

What he doesn't expect is Kyungsoo hiding his face in the pillow again, bright red. It clicks very, very quickly, because really, if you don't answer this question you're sort of answering it anyway. He bets that Kyungsoo's pants feel very uncomfortable now that they've got come smeared on the inside. 

"Thank you," he says, instead of poking fun. He's not that mean. Kyungsoo appreciates it, evidently, since he doesn't hide the wet spot when he gets up to get the discarded towel to wipe Junmyeon's stomach and ass down with, cleaning him up. Junmyeon would help, but now his limbs feel like jelly and - he's sore, still, but it's better. It's manageable. 

He thinks.

"If it spikes again..." he starts, and doesn't finish. He doesn't look at Kyungsoo; they both know what he's talking about.

"I'll stay here for two more days," Kyungsoo replies. Junmyeon relaxes minutely, plopping his head back against the pillow with a reluctant smile. He feels disgusting; even the sheets are disgusting, but if he doesn't sleep now he's not sure if he'll get a chance to later. He hasn't eaten anything substantial; he deserves rest. He settles for rolling over, smushing himself to the wall. 

"Goodnight, Junmyeon-hyung," Kyungsoo says.


	2. ii: minseok

The morning after sees them in the kitchen with surprisingly very little awkwardness. 

This, however, has very little to do with them being close and friendly enough to take the situation in comfortable stride and more to do with the fact that Junmyeon woke up before dawn in the same overheated, desperate state as before. He fucks out two orgasms into his own fist before finally staggering into the bathroom for an icy shower to clear his head.

The problem, he finds, with suppressants, is that they only cloak your own pheromones. While other people may be less affected due to the pills neutralizing the scent, it really does absolutely nothing to prevent you from being affected as well. He's too cruel to wake Kyungsoo up, but he supposes it's a good thing the other has a conveniently early alarm. The wait is short.

By the time the sun is up and filtering thinly through the windows, he's pressing his dongsaeng against the closed fridge door and further delaying breakfast. It's a very educative encounter, for both of them: they learn that the heat is largely affected by emotions as well, flaring and ebbing away with every mood swing. That alone would have been fairly manageable if the heat didn't make his mood as erratic and unpredictable as it did, though one thing is a constant: he's close to tears the whole time, face contorted (in pain? Pleasure? He doesn't _know_ , why doesn't he _know_ , why is this happening to him). 

He also learns that the younger has this thing for open-mouthed, trailing kisses and leaving marks where people can see. It's oddly quite sweet. Or maybe those are the hormones talking? In any case, they're soothing, but purposeful - soft, but teeth clamp down on his skin just after he begins to melt, keeping his attention on Kyungsoo and Kyungsoo alone. It's nice, though Junmyeon has to physically push him away from his neck when Kyungsoo decides to give him a _second_ necklace of hickies. (It doesn't work. He gives the older man a bracelet on his right hand instead, red and angry over his inner wrist.) 

"I'll have to go out today," Kyungsoo says later over a bowl of cereal, a 'proper' breakfast deemed to be a lost cause. Of course - it's not like he's going to drop everything for an omega in heat. Junmyeon can't believe he forgot.

"Classes?" he guesses. "Of course. Good luck with them!" Jesus, what the fuck. 'Good luck with them'? He's not his _mother_. 

"I'm really sorry to leave you like this -"

"I appreciate your concern, but honestly, I can handle it," he cuts in with a huff. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I won't be free until... maybe late afternoon? So."

"Late afternoon, okay --" Junmyeon turns in his seat to glance at the clock mounted on the far wall in the living room. "It's seven. I'm pretty sure I can... ah. Take care of myself -- it, take care of it, for seven or eight hours."

"Because that's a very short amount of time, right."

"I'll sleep or something," he says defensively, shoveling Fruit Loops into his mouth with more force than is necessary, making his teeth clink against the spoon. "And take cold showers. I have it under control. Anyways, I feel better today!"

"That's because you _just_ came." Pause. "All over my shirt," Kyungsoo adds. It's a pretty good argument.

" _Dire situational circumstances_ ," Junmyeon stresses brightly. "I woke up less... Hot? Today? And I know you said it lasted for three days minimum, but I think this is a breakthrough, comparatively. This might even mean it's ending soon --"

Kyungsoo is shaking his head by 'three days minimum'. "I really don't think it works like that, but supposing it does -- _supposing it does_ ," he repeats louder over Junmyeon's protests. "It may still intensify again, like it did last night --" And here, at least, he has the decency to blush.

Junmyeon coughs and hides his own impressively red face in his coffee mug. "Yes, well. I could handle it earlier. It's going to be smooth sailing, now that I know what to do."

The younger gives him an unimpressed look. "Earlier being when you couldn't even stand up straight without falling over or when you woke me up with your hand on my dick."

" _I_ didn't wake you up. Your alarm did."

"You were _waiting by the couch_ , hyung. It wasn't romantic at all."

"Did you mind?" Junmyeon blurts out. He immediately regrets it, because, wow, seriously? He needs to stop doing this, saying things without thinking them through, he's not supposed to do that. Will this happen every single time he gets a heat, on top of going through hormonal hell? "I mean --"

"No," Kyungsoo says, grinning, and reaches for the cereal box. "Not at all. More coffee?"

  


xxx

  


"It's been a full day already?"

Junmyeon fights down a wince at the reminder alone, though Minseok's voice, filtered through the cell phone speakers, only sounds mildly surprised. "Roughly," he admits, reaching out to switch out the water bottle currently resting on the hollow of his stomach for a colder one and breathing out a pleased sigh at the refreshing condensation against his skin. Kyungsoo had shoved every water bottle in the house into the freezer earlier, so this one is nice and icy. Both of them had been incredulous about the comparatively negligible time it took for the ice to melt when he was using one. How hot can one person's body temperature even get? "Half the time, I don't think I can even keep track of time right. It's getting better now though."

"It gets better before it gets worse -"

"It did," Junmyeon interrupts. "It got worse too."

Minseok pauses. Junmyeon can't see him right now, but he imagines the hard set of his shoulders, the tense twist to his mouth. It's easy to read social cues, easier to substitute them in conversation."And your roommate?"

"What about Yifan?"

"Is he helping you get through?"

"What?" Junmyeon can't stop the startled laugh from bubbling up. "Of course not. Why would he? I don't want to push that on him, or, well, anyone. He's at Yixing's."

"It's hard to go through a first heat on your own." Of course it is. Good thing he has Kyungsoo with him, at least for a while. He's not going to share that particular information with Minseok, though, regardless of his trust that the other would be accepting, discreet. "Almost impossible for an unexpected one."

"I'm getting through. Don't worry about it."

"Bullshit. If you don't regulate your temperature, there's a chance of _dying_. Not something to be flippant about. Ignoring the problem isn't going to make things better. You need to get someone to help you or at least watch over your temperature."

But he _hasn't_ been ignoring the problem. It's difficult to ignore a problem when it makes you feel like you're baking in your own skin and prevents you from doing _anything_ without a healthy dose of extreme discomfort. Junmyeon bristles, bites his lip hard. "You think I don't know that? That I'm going to be --" Deep breaths. Irritation rears its ugly head, takes root in his throat. "That it's - it's necessary. For me - as an omega, if I were, if we were to. If I had to survive, _survive_ a first heat, it would be easier for me to have sex with some faceless alpha? You don't think I _know that?_ "

"I didn't mean --"

"You have it easy - everyone wants to be an alpha, everyone wants to have that elevated status -- no, don't you dare pull me and what I thought I would be into this, I'm not talking about me - no one wants to be _possessed_ \--" 

"What? _Lucky?_ It's not like that --"

"Like what? This isn't easy for me, you know, no matter what it may seem like --"

"Like you're on top of the world and omegas are at the bottom - it doesn't work. I just mean that you're looking at it like you being claimed is the only possible outcome of this situation," Minseok interrupts. "And it's not like that all the time, even if some people are still stupid and blind to --" 

"I'm really not! I'm saying that there's a _possibility_ that I'm going to be treated like --"

"Listen to me, Junmyeon. The world doesn't work like that now. Claiming doesn't work like that, if that's what you're worried about. You don't even have to be with an alpha. It's a two-way street, Junmyeon. You know this, you've always known this. Why are you acting like this now?" 

Junmyeon falls silent, mouth open but the proper words for a sound explanation elusive. Minseok takes this as incentive to continue. It speaks volumes about how exasperated he must be already. "You're not going to be treated like that. It's a possibility but not the only one. Just look at Tao and Sehun."

"Yes, but. Sehun hasn't presented yet."

"Regardless. There's a pretty good chance that he's going to be a beta or an omega instead of an alpha. Anyone can see it."

"Like you could see me presenting as an omega," Junmyeon says, sharp and bitter, before he can stop himself. Silence follows. He fidgets, biting his lip. "I'm sorry."

The elder hums. The static almost drowns out the sound of his quiet 'it's fine'. "I'm just saying that right now, you have to be careful," he corrects gently, as if he knows exactly what concerns Junmyeon has. But he can't, obviously, because he's an alpha - lucky, since he doesn't have to deal with overzealous stereotypes, doesn't have to deal with being made into a toy, a lumped in other-half stereotype tailored to alpha knot. He doesn't have to deal with being at the bottom of the hierarchy, not even owning himself, as if he has to be given ownership, and even then it'll have the connotations of belonging to _someone_ , beta or alpha. Only omega-omega relationships - only those are _equal_ socially, naturally, but they're still objectified, even _fetishized_.

Junmyeon doesn't want to think about it, irrational as it is. Thinking about it would mean validating the idea that it's going to be a very real future for him as well. He hasn't even told his parents yet: Minseok, Yifan, and Kyungsoo are the only ones who know (in his circle, anyway - he called in sick so he could be excused from class, and that, he thinks, isn't really the same), unless Yifan told Yixing. (Yixing, who is an omega, too, and Yifan didn't have a problem with _him_. He feels his chest hollow out, heartbeat quickening at the thought, like he's being given microshocks of electricity.) 

He only realizes he hasn't replied when Minseok says his name, interrupting the white noise of the crackle of static filling the room. "Yes."

And then, before the other could say anything, he adds: "I'll keep that in mind. Don't worry. I have to go - talk to you later." 

He ends the call before Minseok says anything. Now that there isn't any distraction around, though, his attention zeroes in on the pure discomfort rising under his skin. The water bottle he'd put on himself has long gone lukewarm, so he sets it on the bedside table and rolls over onto his stomach, grabbing another and placing it on the small of his back. 

Talking to someone didn't help. If anything, he's even more worked up now than he had been before. None of it is Minseok's fault, but still. Playing phone games doesn't distract him, either. He could look up omegas and their lifestyles in further detail, but he's not - he doesn't want to, not really. The KKT chat is quiet, the silence only broken by Chanyeol's selca. He plays songs, but the music sounds like white noise to him, garbled and distorted as if through water. He took a shower an hour ago, and he doesn't want to rack up the water bill even further, especially considering that the drops are knives on his skin anyway. Minseok's concerns _were_ logical. He can't get them out of his mind now, worrying about whether he's only getting used to the feeling of being so fucking hot, whether he's actually in danger or something. He doesn't want anyone else to look at him like this, doesn't want to be a liability, but he's - worried.

It's difficult to cool down, he knows that. He hasn't had a stroke or anything, which is good, and he hasn't even broken down like he did last night. It's only been a couple of hours since Kyungsoo left, each hour passing by with a new worried text about whether or not he was doing okay, but it's been manageable so far. He feels frustrated every time he has to rub one out, strangely affected by the lack of someone beside him helping him along, but beggars can't be choosers. Toys, fingers, desperate touches and fists clenched in the sheets: those are what he has, unless he asks someone to come over: maybe Minseok.

The thought flashes lightning-fast in his mind. His heartbeat stutters and his breath hitches in his throat. Just like that, the option - the offer - is open, like one of those trick pictures that changed when you tilted them. You can't unsee, after. Dazed, Junmyeon closes his eyes, buries his face in the pillow - bites down on it.

It's his biology, doing this to him again. Omega biology, making him think about Minseok like this, chase visions of possible unrealistic futures-that-will-never-come-true like this. Perspective changed, picture tilted the wrong (right?) way, and all of a sudden Junmyeon can't push the image of Minseok less as a friend and more as an alpha out of his mind. He fucking hates this, this constant limbo of waiting for a pin to drop or a switch to be flipped, for the relative calm to fall to pieces in wake of carnal desires. It's natural chemistry, natural statistics - omegas are more likely to be sexually attracted to alphas due to millennia of evolutionary development, irrefutable truth, and that fucks most things up, but who's listening to that self-entitled, progressive jargon when primitive functions overtake logic? 

His mouth is dry. He pushes himself up, stumbles out of his room over to the fridge, and downs another bottle of water to shave off the heat creeping up on him again, crunching down on the thin slivers of ice floating in it. There's nothing he wants to eat in the fridge, not really. He doesn't want to eat anything hot. He doesn't want to eat anything _period_. He wants - he _wants_ , burning and insistent, taking over his mind.

It's a very painful thing, being overtaken by something as primitive as uncontrolled desire. It's psychological: it means clutching the hem of his shirt and staring into space, eyes unfocused and seeing something else entirely. It means going over previous conversations held over and over in guiltily vivid fantasizing, wondering what effect, exactly, you have on someone else. It means taking things out of context, taking your feelings out of the picture, and painting the crimson of lust over them just for a while. 

It means thinking of Minseok, open and inviting, gazing at Junmyeon while touching himself.

He holds onto that image. It's much too easy to imagine Minseok lazily palming himself through his jeans, lounging with his eyes closed and his legs spread suggestively wide open. That perfect mouth would be parted, just enough for wetness to shine on his full bottom lip when he swiped his tongue over it. He'd tease - even himself, grinding his palm down into the (fairly impressive, Junmyeon imagines) bulge, eyelids fluttering whenever the pressure is just right.

Minseok was straightforward, most of the time. It made sense to assume that he'd be similarly clean-cut and no-nonsense in the bedroom as well, always meticulous about his possessions. He'd kick his jeans and underwear off after teasing himself to half-hardness, wrapping his fingers around himself and pushing his cock through the ring of them. _He'd be focused,_ Junmyeon thinks, holding onto the counter, _focused and intense and thorough, knowing himself and what he wanted._ He'd like it ruthless. Or perhaps he'd like it slow, winding up and up and up and then having the fortitude to pause until his pleasure was stretched thin, just to make coming all the more rewarding. He'd fist his thick, pretty cock and slide the pad of his thumb over the leaking slit to smear the wetness over the head until it was shining with it, tracing down the veins like he had all the time in the world. Maybe he'd be shy about being watched - maybe he'd stand up and pull Junmyeon closer instead of letting him stand there, static.

Junmyeon's hand trails down his chest, tweaking a nipple experimentally through his shirt before travelling down to hesitantly ghost over the growing bulge in his loose shorts. He can't believe he's doing this, but the image of Minseok won't leave his mind - cheeks flushed ever-so-slightly, hair mussed like it is whenever he forgets to style it, boyish twinkle in his eye. His eyes close.

Minseok, in his imagination, stands, looking right at him with dark, lidded eyes, bowed mouth twisting in the beginnings of a knowing smirk. Junmyeon swallows, but the intensity of Minseok's gaze is impossible to turn away from, the roguish grin spreading slowly over the elder's face as he appraises him rooting him into place. His gaze lingers on the exposed fair skin of his slender legs, and his smirk widens, gummy enough to be hot. Junmyeon is pinned in place, but Minseok only moves closer, hunger and amusement mingling in the look he's giving him. It's irresistible. 

Then Minseok's hands are splaying over his trim waist, smoothing down his sides to the hem of Junmyeon's oversized shirt and then sliding back up again. His touch is fire itself, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but he doesn't mind. He's arching up, mouth open in a breathless smile, eye contact easy to maintain due to their similar height. His cock jumps at the feeling of Minseok's thumbs rubbing small circles just above the waistband of his shorts, over the jut of his hipbones; his gaze travels downwards to the point of contact, then follows the path laid out for him by the veins running prominent up Minseok's strong forearms to the broad shoulders, all compact muscle. He can see the flex even through the thin t-shirt Minseok is wearing, his body warm and solid.

The smile hasn't even left the older's face, deceptively charming - a wolf in sheep's clothing. _Well_ , he murmurs into Junmyeon's ear as he backs him up into the wall, crowding in against his front with his lips brushing the shell of his ear. _Aren't you a tease._

_Am I?_ Junmyeon breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly with his quickening breaths as he tugs Minseok ever-closer, hands tracing the dips and curves of the elder male's torso and drifting down to cup his ass. Their hips come in contact, punctuated by the wisp of a moan that escapes Junmyeon's throat. The material of his shorts is thin and flimsy; he can feel the roughness of denim on his cock through it when Minseok rocks their hips together, holding Junmyeon in place with unrelenting steadiness. It's - good, it's good. It's not _enough_. Heat settles behind his eyelids and thrums, vibrant, under his skin, and he grits his teeth and pushes his hips forward in search of more, can't Minseok understand he wants more? Wants it to get away from this constant need for contact, this white noise settling pins and needles over all of him?

The act earns him a bite to his lobe. _Greedy,_ Minseok chides. 

_So do something,_ Junmyeon shoots back, impatient and demanding. He even goes for snaking a hand between them to palm at Minseok through the denim, just like before, just like he --

The hands on his hips leave their place to grab both of his wrists and pin them over his head, one returning to hover over his mouth. _Don't,_ Minseok warns, fingertips tracing out the shape of his mouth before a thumb presses at the seam, the rest of his hand cupping the younger's jaw. Junmyeon hesitates, but parts his lips to take it in, curling his tongue around it to suck the saltiness from the skin, cataloguing the difference between stiff, short nail and calloused skin. Minseok looks surprised first, then amused, watching him with that heated, lewd gaze. 

_And you say you're not a tease,_ he says, easing his thumb out of Junmyeon's mouth to replace it with the first two of his fingers. _You look fucking amazing like that. Bet you'd look better swallowing around my cock. Wanna make you choke on it._

He punctuates his words with this _filthy_ roll of his hips, thigh nudged between Junmyeon's as their crotches grind together. He's dizzy, thrown off course - thinking of the weight of Minseok's lovely thick cock in his mouth, filling him up and choking him. His wrists twitch and tug against their binds, desperate to touch him or discard their clothes or _something_ to help, but Minseok doesn't budge at all.

 _Want it? Want oppa to stuff your mouth?_ he asks, moving his hips in slow circles. Junmyeon's legs twitch further open. It's only barely possible for him to gather his wits enough for a nod, glaring at Minseok through narrowed, teary eyes and pointedly jolting his wrists. It brings a sweet smile to his hyung's face. 

To his surprise, Minseok actually does drop his wrists, but he also retracts his fingers from his mouth. Before he can voice his displeasure, however, those strong hands push him down by the shoulders with insistent force. The impact of his knees hitting the ground is completely secondary to the ache in his belly to just be _touched_. Like this, he's eye level with the other's crotch - gets a front-row view to Minseok undoing his pants and shoving them down, underwearing catching on the denim and slipping as well, leaving his cock to curve up towards his stomach.

Junmyeon is assertive. The trait rings true now, too. He leans forward and immediately presses his lips to the fat head, tasting pre-cum and, when he opens his mouth to lick a flat stripe up the cleft, only clean skin. The heavy weight of Minseok's hand settles on his head, fingers threading in his hair and tightening. At his responding gasp, Minseok takes the opportunity to thrust forward into his mouth.

It fills him right up. He has to struggle to wet the length, curving his tongue and sloppily tracing broad licks on the underside with his lips pulled over his teeth, but thankfully Minseok doesn't pull him on his cock further, letting him adjust. The tacky taste of pre spreads over his tongue, but it's not enough -- he inches forward of his own accord, one hand clutching Minseok's hip and the other rubbing at his own throbbing arousal through his shorts, until the head grazes the back of his throat. 

There's still some more to go. He commits this to memory: the ache in his jaw as he holds it wilfully open, the heft and weight of Minseok in his mouth, on his tongue, the dark look on his face when Junmyeon glances up. Saliva gathers at the corners of his mouth. He wraps his lips around the length and sucks, uncaring of the lewd, wet sounds and the tears fusing his lashes together when he struggles to take more in, gagging, spurred on by the sound of Minseok's groans and whispers of _do you like being stuffed full of oppa's dick? God, you look fucking wrecked_ \--

The doorbell rings. 

Junmyeon blinks, snapped back to reality. The kitchen counter gleams in front of him. He can feel the sweat matting his hair to his skin, salt on his lower lip. There is no Minseok in front of him, no phantom knowing smile - just his heat, more agonizing than ever, well on its way to relapsing. 

The doorbell rings again; this time, Junmyeon actually replies after a brief pause, struggling to spit out a harsh "one minute!" and scrambling to find something loose and formless enough to wear to cover his raging erection, extracting a hoodie from the mess in his closet and wrapping it around himself. It's a good thing he took his suppressants.

It's Yifan, highly uncomfortable. "...Hi."

"H-- uh. Hi." Junmyeon swallows, plasters a smile on his face, focuses as hard as he can at a point above Yifan's shoulder to avoid looking him in the eye. "Um. Come in!"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Yifan enters, looking for all the world like he's a guest coming in for the first time ever instead of someone who has lived in the same space for a little over six months. Now that the taller male mentions it, the lack of luggage is much more obvious. Guilt overtakes the last few dredges of desire; it's not that Junmyeon isn't in literal burning hell, but he doesn't like the fact that he basically had to force his roommate out of his home in a wildly unexpected, highly exaggerated sexile.

"No, I'm sorry, I -- about my, ah, condition, I'm sorry --"

"It's fine." Yifan moves towards his bedroom, a little too awkward in his large frame for once. "I just need to get some stuff, but don't worry about it."

Junmyeon falls silent, miserable. The rest of Yifan's stay is awkward, suffocating. Neither of them are comfortable. Desire and discomfort itch in tandem under his own skin, and there's a furrow to Yifan's brows and a bloodless purse to his lips. The implication that this is Junmyeon's fault is the most damning and prominent he's ever seen. It's highly likely that this sort of - this natural mishap is going to impact their rather amiable friendship, if not their living conditions alone. He avoids Yifan's gaze, flitting about the edges of his periphery and only offering to make him something to eat with half his usual enthusiasm.

"No, I'd better go." Yifan has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he stands, tense, in the doorway. "Junmyeon, I..."

"Yes?" Junmyeon prompts when Yifan stays silent for a couple of beats too long, shifting in place. 

Yifan presses his lips together. "I'll see you later," he finishes finally. It's. Not a match for the tense atmosphere, too detached for it. Junmyeon bites his lip, furrowing his brows, but Yifan doesn't budge, gracing him with a twitch of the corners of his lips in a manner that might have been supposed to indicate a smile. 

"See you soon," he corrects, strain paling his smile around the edges. "Remember to eat."

The door closes. He feels only slightly guilty for the sigh of relief that escapes him as he moves away to pour himself over the couch, hoodie discarded somewhere along the way. The strangely disturbed atmosphere lasts only as long as until Kyungsoo visits. By then, unfortunately, Junmyeon is a wreck, the encounter long forgotten, and not even the strangely heart-in-throat breathlessness he gets when he glances towards Yifan's door is strong enough to distract him from cooling down once, twice, thrice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops this is as short as minseok himself due to the lack of set up. shit.


End file.
